I browsed the racks this week for the card that mom might like best, or at least, well enough, for Mother’s Day. While I picked up a couple that made me laugh in the fluorescent-lit aisle, ultimately I picked the lovey-dovey one, remembering how much she likes those “You’ve always been there — Thanks, mom” cards. I like seeing that crinkly way her eyes smile that says having those three unruly kids was worth all the sleepless nights after all, and boy, am I glad they’re grown.
I’m glad I picked the one I did, because moms do all sorts of things for us, their kids, even past the day they are fretting over our temperature with a cold washcloth and working extra shifts to pay for our education, or clothes, or the electric bill.
Moms do these things because they’re moms.
And while this Sunday was Mother’s Day, and Hallmark and all those other card companies make a fortune on us all – we buy a card and call or visit because everyone, even the worst of us, have mothers and most of the time, our mothers have done a pretty darn good job of raising us.
I served on a jury this past week, and I couldn’t wait to tell my mom about it. I knew she’d love hearing how things went.
“I’ve always thought jury duty was a privilege,” she said Sunday, for the umpteenth time.
“I know. Me too,” I said.
She taught me that.
I remember her all those years ago telling us kids about her jury experiences.
“They always pick me,” she’d say, with a sigh, whenever she got a summons, and we’d laugh.
She would tell us the stories so vividly, so precisely, after the trial was over. It was mesmerizing — akin to listening to a chapter of John Grisham on tape. We’d eat our peas and mashed potatoes and listen. She told us about the lawyers, and the judge, and, of course, the defendant on trial. I remember an arson case of a barn not far from where we lived, burnt to the ground, which she sat in judgment of. We’d pass that barn often growing up, on our way to the school uniform store, or to visit a friend, or to music lessons. We’d sit seat-belted, travel over the little bridge near the mill, and stare at the empty spot where the barn used to be. She’d often retell the story when we passed by. I realize only now, that her sitting on that jury and sharing with us the experience and feelings she had in doing so, taught me with each retelling that our choices as a people provide us with a system that values order, fairness, responsibility, and righting wrongs. A barn purposely set ablaze calls for a fair accounting.
It’s a powerful and comforting message for a young mind.
I carried with me this past week that lesson learned long ago. It wasn’t a lesson that came from a book, or from years of study or contemplating some lofty ideals set down in the document which forms the basis of it all.
It came simply and plainly from my mom, who, by her willingness to participate in the few tasks required of being a citizen, by taking them seriously and thoughtfully, taught us kids the value of the democratic and constitutional system we are privileged to be a part of.
It turns out I am not alone in this.
One by one, last Monday and Tuesday, Superior Court Judge Raymond Batten asked 12-plus potential jurors the same questions, including the following, paraphrased here:
“Do you understand it is entirely the burden of the State to prove its case, and that the criminal defendant need not testify, nor present witnesses, may even choose not to be present in the courtroom during trial if he or she wishes?”
“Yes,” were the answers, one after the next.
“Do you think it is a good system?” was the next question.
“Sure,” or “Yes” said each one.
“Why do you feel this way?” he asked next.
The consistency of answers I heard, from daughters, sons, and parents, young and old, black and white, was striking.
“It’s just the way I was raised,” said one after the other, after the other.